#poem #poetry #amwriting #elliot #tselliot

today I gulp latte
and try not to look at his accolytes

college types like himself
though the red brick of their yet unattained
   english degree of a certain era
     is more cut glass than his

    he has them on leads
though in the world of his new found freedoms
   they are not referred to by the common tongue
in jest - only half joking - the yellow leather straps are called freeds

for his work has gone beyond

where once he sought the simple joy of ts elliott
   that ease
   that expression of the infinite

where once he balanced shiela's bloody

where once he longed publication

and found fulfillment in possibility

now he has gone beyond infinity
   into a definite article
   of constricted rules
in which the freed is the perfect symbol
for only he knows
                   only he sees
                   and his acolytes - disciplesque -
                   provide the loop of his greatness

his poem - for we no longer share
everything is him - is entitled
it's theme is perfection personified in the pixels of a full stop
    on his phone
    only on his phone
    charged in his kitchen

oh how I long for the angst to return
   that we might discuss again

a single rain drop runs down the pane
   catches a rail of spent water
   and commits suicide on the putty
in the hope that the sun will lift it back to the sky
so as it will again enjoy the giddyness of falling

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